


Her head is full of ruins

by HelveticaBrown



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4739834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelveticaBrown/pseuds/HelveticaBrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the possibility of happiness terrifies Emma. Swan Queen ficlet</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her head is full of ruins

**Author's Note:**

> Another wee little ficlet from Tumblr, born of my terrible habit of procrastiwriting when I should be studying.

The way that Regina looks at her fills her with wonder and terror all at the same time. Wonder, because she has someone who looks at her like _this,_ with want and need and faith all rolled up together. Wonder, because it’s _Regina_ looking at her like this, in a way she doesn’t think she’s ever been looked at before. Terror, because everyone who has ever looked at her like she means something to them has walked away and she’s not sure she could bear it if it happens again. Terror, because sometimes she wonders how she’ll fuck things up this time, because somehow she always does. Because no matter how many ways she twists it, she’s the common thread.

This is all so new that when Regina looks at her like this, when wonder and terror war, she’s not sure which one will win. And right now, Regina is looking at her like she wants to say something, and she can see the words forming on her lips and suddenly Emma can’t breathe. Her throat feels tight, and there’s air trapped in her chest that’s growing staler by the moment, and she knows she needs to release the breath she’s holding, but she can’t.

And then Regina says, “Are you okay?” and they’re not the words that Emma has been hoping and dreading to hear.

With that, Emma can breathe again, but only just, because the air feels like sucking molasses through a straw, and her muscles are working and working at filling her lungs, but it’s not enough. She feels both leaden and light at the same time; her chest feels heavy, but her head is like a helium balloon on a string, threatening to float away.

She slides out from between the sheets, dressing hurriedly, not bothering to button her shirt the whole way. She sits on the edge of the bed for a moment as she fumbles with her boots. Behind her, she can hear the rustle of sheets and Regina saying her name with a question in her voice. Emma doesn’t turn around, but she knows that Regina’s brows will be knitted in a frown that Emma could sketch with her eyes closed, and the muscles around her eyes will be tight with worry. And she knows that Regina will be reaching for her, tentatively, and that perhaps at the last moment she’ll draw her hand back. And those hands that can never be still will be twisting and wringing the bedsheets, seeking an outlet, a way to channel their energy. She knows all this, but she doesn’t turn around.

She walks out the door and doesn’t stop walking until she’s sitting at the wheel of her car, and then she’s driving with no idea where she’s going. Just driving, with nothing in her head but the lines of the road stretching out in front of her.

The fuel light has been blinking insistently at her for the last twenty miles, so when she finally spots a truck stop, she pulls into it and realises that she’s been driving for three hours and she’s maybe a hundred miles out of Boston. She fills up the tank and then sits in the car drinking coffee that tastes like it was brewed in an ashtray. She grimaces, and forces herself to swallow it all down, her stomach threatening to rebel at this unwelcome assault.

She looks over at the passenger seat and realises her phone is blinking. When she turns the screen on, there’s a barrage of missed call notifications, and she scrolls through a series of increasingly frantic text messages. Text messages that began with worry and grew towards frustration until they finally stopped an hour ago. And Emma’s stomach is suddenly rebelling for reasons other than the terrible coffee, because she and Regina have finally reached a place where they’re fighting for each other rather than against, and now she’s blown it all up.

She drives, and there’s nothing in her head but ruins and burnt remains, and she can barely see the road at all.

The sun is coming up as she gets back into Storybrooke. She pulls up in front of her house and her breath catches again, because Regina is sitting on her front stairs, wrapped tightly in a coat, looking tired and forlorn. And Emma suddenly can’t wait to be beside her again.


End file.
